


The Truth of Us

by annunziatina



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Acceptance, Confessions, F/M, Love, Nobel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 12:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17940098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annunziatina/pseuds/annunziatina
Summary: First sentence Tumblr prompt fill"Run!"proposed by @sabrinachill.  Thanks again!Isobel shows up at Noah's doorstep and reveals the truth of everything; Noah reacts in the only way his heart knows how.





	The Truth of Us

**Author's Note:**

> This work is un-beta'd. I apologize for any errors and awkwardness.

_“Run!”_ Noah’s desperate plea is but a whisper. “Isobel. Please.” The danger of which she spoke is real, perhaps not imminent, but sure to ascend. “You have to run.” He’s unsure if the words have made it past the lump in his throat.

Isobel’s shoulders shake, not from the midnight breeze whirling around them; her eyes glisten with unshed tears. Noah runs his hands up her bare arms and feels the goosebumps prickling over her skin - so human. He cradles her face in his own trembling hands thinking he’s never seen her as vulnerable as in this moment. 

Isobel looks to the ground, unable to hold his gaze any longer. The stoic facade, the woman others had once considered stone-faced and cold, is gone. Noah’s wife, the woman he has always known to be more than what she presented to everyone else, the woman who’d only revealed a fraction of the depths of her soul to him, the woman who had been more than enough even then, turns back to him with a shuddering breath. 

“I can’t.” She dashes her hand under her nose and rolls her eyes in grief, in exasperation. “Max won’t leave Liz and Michael won’t go without… No. Not without Max and Michael.” There’s a pregnant pause where her eyes find Noah’s again. “I can’t go without-” her voice breaks and Noah feels like she is reaching into his chest, holding his heart in her hand. 

Will she be gentle? he wonders. Will she crush him with a goodbye?

Then, her palm _is_ pressing against him. It is impossible for her to be so close and not know his heart is hammering against his ribs. The muscle contracts so tightly he is certain, if Isobel doesn’t put an end to the silence, his heart will seize. And if it breaks, it will not start up again.

Isobel’s fingers curl into a fist over Noah’s chest, catching the pocket of his shirt. The first of her tears tumble down her cheek. The slide of the tear is warm and wet over Noah’s thumb - human, like every part of Isobel he’s been allowed to see.

After his wife’s years of deceit and her confession that just turned his world upside down, Noah’s first concern remains her safety. It couldn’t be anything else. “I wouldn’t blame you for going with them if-” He is astounded by the difficulty he experiences as he tries to send her away. 

The movement of Isobel’s head is so slight, Noah would have missed it had he not been holding her. He glides his fingers around the curve of her ear. There’s no stray hair to tuck behind it, but he pretends. The feel of fingertips running over her scalp has lulled her to sleep many a restless night; he hopes it will work to soothe her now. 

The ache in his chest, the confusion and betrayal, seem like nothing compared to the fear he feels vibrating in the air surrounding the woman - the alien - the wife that he dearly, unwaveringly loves. 

“But you’re in trouble.” 

Isobel sucks in another stuttering breath and steps into his embrace. “Yes,” she exhales into the crook of his neck. She nuzzles into the space she found years ago. Noah remembers that night, their first night, their first time. He slips his hands up and down Isobel's sides and pulls her in.

He recalls how she’d taken him by the hand after they'd made love. How, on shaky legs, they'd stumbled, giggling in the dark, to the patio of her cottage. How they'd wrapped themselves in a throw blanket that was too small, balanced precariously on a chaise just wide enough. He remembers lying under the harvest moon, staring at the stars reflected in Isobel's eyes, and realizing he was in love. Something must have given him away; she had hidden her face in the place where his shoulder net his neck and told him she had never felt so safe. He had held onto his sentiment for another time. He told her he cherished her, promised to always protect her instead.

Coyotes whoop and sing off in the distance; it sounds like a large pack and Noah thinks about how lonely Isobel must have been all this time. It is no wonder she made excuses to be with Michael and Max; they were the only ones who truly knew who she is. 

Was there ever a time she had wanted to tell him? Or was it only necessity that drove her into his arms today? Noah casts the questions aside as the night air cools his anger, clears his head. He tips his head back, just for a moment, and the bright crescent of the moon peeking over the roof feels like an intrusion on their privacy. 

Isobel twists the fringe along the edge of the blanket draped over the wicker couch. She must have known, when she stood on the doorstep, took him by the hand and pulled him into the house they’ve shared since he’d presented her with the key to his heart and home, that he would recognize the path they’d walked that first night they spent together under this roof.

As he takes stock of their surroundings: the handwoven blanket Isobel has pulled into her lap, the pillows enveloping them, he sees. Isobel has never appeared so small, so delicate, or so willing to be taken care of as she had that night, until now. Now, as she bears her soul in what Noah can only guess is its rawest form. 

She had wanted to tell him then, their first night; Noah recognizes that now. But her fear had held her back - her fear and the promise she, Max, and Michael had kept for a lifetime. 

The fear of the past, of course, is a mere shadow of the terror of that colors her features in the present. Yet, today, pushed by some greater force and - Noah wants more than anything to believe - bolstered by love, Isobel is able to finally entrust him with her secret.

“You’re safe here,” he assures her, “until leaving is the only option you have.”

“And then?” she croaks. Her hot tears pool along Noah’s collar bone, leaving a cooling trail behind. Her silent sobs leave Noah shaken to his core.

“Then,” he begins, his voice just as rough as Isobel’s. Emotion threatening to choke him. “Then, you go.”

A quiet whimper works its way past Isobel’s lips. She creeps out of hiding, aligning their faces forehead to nose. 

Noah tastes astringent on her breath and wishes she hadn't needed liquid courage - the poison that numbs - in order to knock on their door. 

He draws a line from the hollow of her throat up to her chin and allows himself a moment before taking a risk. “Then-” all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears “-we go.” It’s a question despite his bravado; it strangles his lungs and steals his air.

Isobel’s eyes blink up at him, a light in them flashing brighter than any star in the sky. Noah sees relief, hope, and wonders if it’s fair to consider the steadfastness of Isobel’s love.

“Together,” he says, leaping into faith, “we run.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
